


Mezzo, Forte, Fortissimo

by a_little_nostalgic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Graphic, Haikyuu Setters as Conductors, I can't bear to write smut with innocent pretty Suga, Inspired by official art, Musician!Reader, Some Fluff, fight me, intense sexual tension, some smut, trashykawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_nostalgic/pseuds/a_little_nostalgic
Summary: Orchestra AU one-shots: It’s hard to justify being a talented musician when you are always distracted by your conductor.





	Mezzo, Forte, Fortissimo

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit content

Ah, he was doing it again. You weren’t the only one murmuring to yourself as everyone silently sat, turning their scores and marking notes in the margins, but each musician was deliberately avoiding eye contact with the tense and evidently scowling young man standing on the podium. He was glaring at his own score, his baton tapping irritably, and even from your distance seated at the piano you could tell the muscles on his arms were straining. 

The new orchestra conductor, young and talented and a renown genius for his mastery of many instrumental techniques, was a total dictator. He’s had experience shadowing some of the most famous conductors in East Asia due to familial involvement, and being a musical prodigy himself certainly didn’t hurt. As far as you were told, he had contracts with several elite orchestras in the past, but it seemed as if they were larger and composed of experienced musicians who could deal with any curveball thrown their way. But your chamber orchestra was small and tightknit; everyone has known another for long times and some were even referred personally. You have been its pianist ever since its conception three years ago. It was young, as were its members, and all you have relied on were temporary projects; a ballet here, a concert there. Now with a new experienced, but also young conductor joining you, you had hoped he would pull in more high-demand performances. You had hoped he would blend in well.

But Kageyama Tobio, you have learned, was not the kind who could _blend in_. Not with his terrifying aura, those angry eyebrows, and a perpetually downwards mouth. 

The sudden sound of his voice, scruff and impatient, jolted many people in their seats that several turned to you, the lead musician, in alarm. “Again,” was his order, but a few others were still not finished taking notes from his previous criticism. Your brow twitched but you shook your head at your friends and said nothing, waiting until silence once again ensued to mark your beginning.

Your tempo was perfect: slightly faster than the previous time but slow enough that it was reasonable for the violinists to catch on. This piece wasn’t meant to be slow, but it was definitely supposed to be clear. The less in sync everyone was, the less the melody of the song was carried through.

For a while, Kageyama was in sync with you as more instruments joined the orchestration; the strings, then the flutes. But when, to your left, the trumpets began to start, that was when you noticed from the corner of your eye that your conductor was leading a bit fast. It was normal to be just slightly faster as the sound would take a while to carry across the room, but he was almost a whole tempo ahead, his baton waving aggressively until he was practically pointing at the trumpets in accusation. You missed a note while distracted at looking at him, but the music was becoming too wild that no one even heard. And that was when you knew that a string in your conductor had snapped.

“Faster!” was his demand, familiar yet alarming to everyone else who was playing as they were torn between also listening to the same order or still keeping to the trumpets’ pace. Ike, a fellow violinist who sat just in front of you, sent you a panicked and annoyed look which you returned with a grimace as Kageyama’s clean, slick strokes were barely a blur. “Can you not hear the percussion? Go faster!” But if the trumpets went any faster, they would risk the clarity of their sound.

Eventually, it was you who snapped, ending the song mid-way as your fingers came down harshly on the beautiful keys that the notes clashed painfully in your ears, stopping everyone in their tracks. The trumpets were the last to stop playing, too scared by both your conductor and you, who had never thrown a tantrum before, to fully cease immediately. Everyone held their instruments in the air as they stared wide-eyed at you, including the dark-haired man stunned at the podium as his pose was paused at the previous stroke. 

You whipped your head around to send him a glare.

“That’s enough, don’t you think? How fast do you think they can play? The faster they are, the faster the violins also have to catch up and that completely messes up the clarity of the music. We’re not a bunch of robots.”

Kageyama’s stare at you was surprised but wild, as if he couldn’t believe that you had the audacity to challenge him. Not to your surprise, he finally furrowed his eyebrows and growled before leaning towards you aggressively, “This piece is supposed to be Vivace, but they are playing Allegro. That’s a whole two dozen bpm’s slower! We are not following the sheet instructions if they play like this!”

“Screw the instructions, what about the emotions behind this piece! What about the joy and imagery of little kids skipping around? Because that’s what the story is about! And Allegro has a huge range of tempo; the faster you tell them to play, the faster _we_ have to make up for it.” You referred to those around you in the background. “Kageyama, you don’t know how we play. Us, as an orchestra, we take emotions much more seriously, and emotions cannot be portrayed by how ‘perfect’ our tempo is. The different tempo is the team’s interpretation of the score and what makes our music beautiful.”

At that, your conductor pursed his lips and was silent, his eyes still wide. But all the other musicians had lowered their instruments and were murmuring quietly to each other, worry on their expressions. You know everyone is stressed. 

After another tense moment in which you and Kageyama said nothing, you cleared your throat, turning back to your piano, and said, “I think we should all end our practice here today. Regather our senses. We can all practice our speed at home.”

There was a quiet slew of agreements as everyone quickly gathered their belongings, but you still sat motionless at the piano as you glared silently at the music score, wanting to give another piece of your mind to the conductor who likewise also stayed at his podium without a change in physical tension. Ike, as he was putting his things together, turned towards you in a lowered hiss as his eyes were frantic, “Hey, are you okay? I’d suggest us get out of here as fast as possible!”

“I’m fine,” was your response, though you were still glaring. Your teammate still looked at you in worry.

“But knowing Kageyama he’ll just yell at you after this,” he murmured, storing his violin away. He jumped when the conductor finally made a motion and was stepping off the podium, walking towards you. “Oh, crap. Dude, you’re in trouble.”

From the corners of your eyes, the young man’s face was downcast as he strode past the string players, each one going dead silent to follow him with their eyes as he headed towards you. Ike busied himself with burying his head in his bag until Kageyama stopped several steps from you. The whole room took a breath, while the other side whispered and hurriedly pushed each out of the way to leave, already packed. As some others filed out, your side too scared to do so in his immediate presence, Kageyama opened his mouth.

“(L/N)-san,” he said, and you turned to him with an expressionless face, “if it would work with you, please stay behind to instruct me on the orchestra’s playing method.”

That statement stunned you. Even Ike, who pretended like he knew nothing of the world, snapped his head up to stare in disbelief. The whispering of the room went dead quiet.

“Um,” was your response, and then Kageyama continued.

“If all of you already have a set style in play, I want to learn how to cooperate with that. Show me what tempo you set for other scores.”

Eyes widened but brows furrowed, you swallowed a ball in your throat as you had previously anticipated him to shout at you, but this sudden show of respect took you off guard. That was really what you all needed, a sign of respect; that the conductor wasn’t a leader as much as a mediator and that he pulled you together to play your best. You slowly nodded, but looked down warily. “I can stay. Shall we move to the practice room down the hall?”

Kageyama nodded curtly, once, and said, “Let’s go.”

The whole room was staring at him in awe as he walked back towards the podium to gather his belongings and you blinked at his back, stunned that the domineering dictator was finally shedding his bright red cape.

* * *

“Gymnopedie No. 1,” was your eventual response after Kageyama inquired you on which piece you would like to show him. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, wondering why you suggested such a slow piece after practicing one of the fastest songs of orchestra. “Because it is slow, and I want us to start there.”

The conductor said nothing but finally nodded, hands on his knees as he sat in full attention before you took a breath and set your fingers on the keys.

Now, this was a song you would usually play faster than normal; instead of nostalgia and mystery, you went for more suspense and curiosity. However, unless you had a keen sense of hearing, like this genius conductor did, you wouldn’t actually be able to tell it was a faster tempo. Kageyama noticed that and you could tell the perfectionist in him was irked at the different speed at which you were going. However, he said nothing, listening attentively as you played out the entirety of the song.

When you were finished, you turned to him and asked, “So, Kageyama-san, what kind of emotion did you infer from that style?”

“… Impatience,” he said, almost as if a question, and you shook your head calmly at him before responding.

“No, you’re still thinking too much about the tempo. If you remember how I was stroking the notes, you feel that the music is seeking and inquisitive. Try to feel that because I was off-tempo.”

The dark-haired man nodded once, sorting through his memory to play exactly what you did in his head.

“Now I’m going to play a faster piece,” you said, turning back to your piano. However, though you said that, this time you actually went slower than what the score demanded, and Kageyama was stunned but less frustrated as he listened all the way through. When you turned back to him, he was frowning, but not in an angry manner.

“Why?”

You almost rolled your eyes at the childish question and said, “Because emotions, Kageyama-san. Why do you think I dragged out the low notes?”

“…” he was certainly stumped, but as his face scrunched up in thought you replayed the higher notes and then the lower ones in the same manner, paying specific attention to accentuate the score. When his brow twitched, but not from impatience, he finally said, “To show that the music is careful during deep notes, and more eager during the high?”

You weren’t surprised by his genius, but you were so pleased that you snapped your fingers and said, “Exactly.”

“Hmm,” was his reply, and placed his curled finger on his chin in contemplation. You turned to him fully and said, “See, you don’t have to have a perfect tempo to show emotions in your music. There is much more to that. What you need to practice is patience, because it takes a while for this style to settle in.”

He looked at you curiously but then nodded in affirmation. It was no surprise that he would be a fast learner. Next, you looked at him in satisfaction.

“Please conduct me on the next piece then,” you recommended, and he stared at you in surprise. “But I’d like you to follow, instead of lead.”

A tall demand. Any other conductor might have been offended, and there was a chance he was, too. But Kageyama was always willing to improve, for he almost eagerly stood up, holding the baton as if he was ready for any chance to do so. A smile lifted the corners of your mouth at how almost endearing that was, but you blinked and shook that thought out. Both of you practiced on how to be in sync.

And the next several practices went surprisingly well. He was no longer shouting at the orchestra; his signs of frustration were limited to how clear the music sounded, not how fast everyone was going. Kageyama would actually take the initiative to talk to the musicians rather than order them to take notes. And Ike looked at you in almost gratitude.

As the atmosphere of the orchestra had changed, so did every musician’s attitude towards the conductor. Rather quickly, everyone began to warm up to the initial intruder as they felt more comfortable both giving Kageyama suggestions and asking him for advice, so much that there were a couple of times in the beginning when he would look at you in alarm at how eager everyone was to speak to him, and how you would smile joyously in return. All disdain gone, you and everyone in the room could finally see him for the value he provided rather than the demands he used to give. And by the end of the second week you heart would be fluttering every time he appeared pleased at the end of the song, seeing his toes tap to the rhythm set by the players and fingers following along. You found yourself looking at him more than you used to, because a happy Kageyama was a pleasant one, and it was almost cute when he would be taken off guard or stutter when you and the musicians would tease him with questions.

He wasn’t exactly the toughest case to crack, was your thought. If you knew him outside of music, he was actually very enjoyable to be with because of how focused he was on it. And your music knew that before you did, making you aware of how gently your fingers played, how your mouth would curl at the end of a piece, how sensitive you were to his presence standing next to you while you two were alone. And Kageyama was a beautiful young man if he wasn’t scowling.

And that was when you realized that you were smitten.

By the twelfth “private session”, you had picked out a piece that was buried deep into your drawers because you hadn’t had a chance to play it. Your fingers were just itching to stroke the keys and eyes eager to see the expression on his face when he heard, because this time it wasn’t going to be like any of the other moments you have shared with another man.

* * *

It was a love ballad. Your fingers were as soft as the melody. Usually you would have glanced aside to take a peek at how he was holding up, whether he was tapping his hand to the rhythm or furrowing his brow in thought. But now you couldn’t, with your neck as flushed as your ears and your chest thrumming in embarrassment. It wasn’t as if you had never played this ballad before; in fact, in was one of your favorite pieces with your own twist to the high notes. Your friends all loved it when you played this song because of how much emotional depth you put into it, hoping that one day it would also impress someone you loved. 

You were hoping that now, your body automatically stroking the right notes but your mind buzzing elsewhere. Kageyama was not exactly the most emotional man, and neither had you expected him to be the most responsive lover. But you also hadn’t expected your private moments to have initiated the development of personal attachment that would manifest in your wanting to play this song.

When the piece was finished, you took a deep breath to quench the insecurity and embarrassment of having displayed yourself out there. Had it been a month prior, you were certain the genius conductor wouldn’t have been able to interpret the piece like this. But as he understood your method over the course of the past few weeks, he surely was able to crack the code on what your music had just meant. A confession.

Kageyama remained quietly staring at the keys as you waited for a response, his hands in fists on his knees, his shoulders squared, his mouth in a line. But you didn’t have to look too carefully to see the profuse blush on his face that went across his nose and cheekbones to his ears. A giggle escaped you, and you slowly pushed back from the piano to stride carefully towards him as if he was bird that was easily startled. He blinked in intense concentration at the ground as you stopped in front of him, tilting your head.

“Well? What do you think, Kageyama-san?” you asked calmly, though your heart drummed loudly in your ears. He swallowed evidently, his eyes flickering between your face and the floor as he nodded mutely before finally struggling out, “It-it was played well and was meant for a solo. I think you should be slightly louder for the high notes so it builds better on the crescendo. And, um…”

You rolled your eyes a little with the technical talk, knowing he was genuinely thinking hard about the playing method but blissfully ignoring the words between the lines. Taking another step closer and noticing that caused him to tighten his grip on his knees, you continued, “And what do you think about the story and emotions behind the song? Were they carried out well?”

Looking rather uncomfortable, Kageyama Tobio rubbed his lips together in almost embarrassment as he stuttered a response, “I think so, yes. It’s about the longing between two lovers and how one is trying to cross a distance to reach the other. You’ve done a great job depicting that, (L/N)-san.”

“Thank you. But I wasn’t depicting a story.”

He furrowed his brows at you, nose thoroughly flushed, and looked utterly confused as he said, “I don’t get it. For all of our past sessions you’ve been teaching me how to figure out the meaning behind the music you play. Are we no longer practicing that?”

“I am,” you huffed a little in frustration, picking at the edge of your shirt. “Well… have you not noticed how we’ve been interacting? I don’t think it’s just me, but things between us have changed. I was trying to depict that with this song.”

Speechless for a moment longer, he cocked his head to the side with a continuous baffled expression on his face and stared at you intently, so much that you had to refrain yourself from pressing your cheek against his at how smitten you felt. His eyes, widened in both shock and hope, blinked quickly as he gathered together words to say, but couldn’t. For a while he acted like a fish out of water.

You shook your head gently. “Aren’t you supposed to be the genius conductor here? I thought you’d be able to interpret what I’m meaning with music.”  
“I-I don’t want to be assuming,” was his flat response, and you finally released an amused but exasperated chuckle as you smiled at him.

“Then you are a dummy,” you said. He jumped slightly and looked at you with alarmed eyes. 

“What?”

“I said you’re a dummy,” you reiterated, and leaned forward to press your lips on his.

They were parted in surprise and cool when he sucked in a breath and held it there. Your upper lip caught his front teeth, and then pursed to close over his lower one, and for a long moment Kageyama just sat there unmoving as his mouth trembled under yours. You pressed a hand on his shoulder and moved again, drawing a whimper from the gap between your breaths, and finally a shaky hand reached up to your arm that caged him in his seat and Kageyama drew back, his face beat red. You smiled at him.

“I, uh, (L/N)-san,” he began, almost grinding his teeth. You quirked an eyebrow.

“Still with the formalities?” you asked, and the man nearly choked before he continued.

“… (F/N)-san,” he mumbled, barely audible, but his eyes were blazing and determined when he repeated with more confidence, “(F/N)-san, are you sure?”

“Would I be throwing myself at you like this if I weren’t? We didn’t drink anything strange today, Tobio.”

The lack of honorifics embarrassed him again he looked down, but his eyes flickered back up when they met with your chest. A grin tugged at the corners of your lips as he said, “Okay. I got it. What – what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing at the moment,” you assured him, pushing slightly closer and draping your leg over to his. Your knee rubbed the outside of his thigh and he clenched his legs together in response, and you were none too pleased to see a growing bulge shyly demanding for attention as you kissed him again, speaking through the pauses between each pressing. “So can I assume that you’re feeling the same?”

“Yes,” he responded almost automatically, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he stared mesmerized at your mouth. His hands slowly crept up your hips until the heat of his palms seared through your clothes onto your pulsing skin. His breath was already labored.

You kissed him more. Once, twice, six times, until the numbers blurred and respiration was cut off as one of you would interrupt the other when the wanting became needy. You crawled across his lap, and his fingers clenched into your shirt. Your tongue explored the hot wet cavern of his mouth and scraped across his teeth until he was literally breathing you in. Tobio gasped a few times, his moans not going unnoticed as your traced your fingers across his jaw and neck, pressing into his collarbone with your thumb. When you flicked your tongues together, he jerked up, his thighs practically clashing with yours until you felt the momentary compression of his core against yours.

You wanted more. With a moan, you slid closer towards his lap until he was rested exactly where you needed him, and Tobio broke off your kiss with a full-on cry. His legs trembled under yours as he dug his hands into your waist, and his chest was heaving when he said, “(F/N)-san.”

“Tobio,” you sighed back, kneading across him until his hard, clothed cock rubbed against your clit through your pants. Even with these layers, you could feel the heat and the sharpness of his core digging into yours.

The young man seemed at lost as he continued shaking, his hips instinctively jerking up to meet you until you rolled figure eights over him, yourself hearing only the rushing of blood in your ears and seeing him throwing his head back in pleasure with an opened mouth. He sprawled his large hand across your back, pressing your chest to his, and you placed an open kiss to the tender skin under his jaw that was throbbing as much as his cock. He gasped into your ear again, clenching his teeth each time you deliberately grinded against him, hard, until he was desperately thrusting up to meet with you and creating as much agonizing contact as possible. You wanted him inside, but damn did you just want release. The urgent feeling of the rubbing and friction teasing at your folds made your thighs tighten and ache in response, and it didn’t help that his taste was intoxicating as your teeth left marks and his hand was openly groping at your covered breast.

“Tobio,” you exclaimed his name again after releasing him from your captivity, and he frantically pushed you down until you were more restricted from movement but allowed him to anxiously jerk his hips up to dig into yours. His thrusts were sharp and brutal, pulling your underwear painfully tight, but you were too soaked through to care as his heat seeped into your core. You clenched his shoulders in support when your foreheads clashed due to him wanting to catch your mouth in his, but your bodies were bumping out of sync. He held you down until you clamped in sensitivity, your legs slipping from exertion and your stomach coiling until it snapped. Your hands grabbed his face and you smothered him with your tongue and lips, and Tobio relented, sensing you falling from the high, slowing to a gallop as you shook on top of him and sucked on his tongue so hard he pressed your bodies together as if trying to prevent you from taking him any further.

Your clit was beaten and sensitive as he continued rubbing against you, quietly seeking release without being demanding. So ironic, you thought, that he would be so submissive now. After catching several breaths and when his hips were still pressing tight into yours, you drew back, releasing his mouth with a pop, and Tobio looked absolutely dazed and hazy as a thread of spittle drizzled between your lips and got caught on his own. You licked yours, pulling back, and the deep crease that surfaced between his brows was so endearing that you had to prevent a giggle as you slid off from him before settling down onto your knees. “Don’t look so hurt. We’re not done yet.”

Having his heat gone from your core really emphasized the fact that you have utterly soaked through your underwear and left a damp mark over his evident bulge. You pressed his legs apart and settled yourself between them, smirking when he swallowed so loudly his whole neck moved, and his hands clenched tightly onto the edge of the seat on either side of him. He looked at you with furrowed eyes as if he was learning a new score, fully focused, and you responded back to his look as your hands slowly unbuckled his belt, undid his button, and unzipped his front until cotton boxers met your fingertips. Tobio gave out a strange strangled whimper as he said, “(F/N)-san, please.”

“Be more patient, Tobio. What have we been trying to teach you this whole time?” you lazily teased as you drew the cotton aside and stroked the first contact of skin. His body completely tensed at that action.

“But… but I can’t.”

“Can’t is a harsh word.”

“(F/N), please,” his voice was scruffy this time, irritation soaking into his nerves as he buckled in response to your touch. You looked at him with wide eyes as you drew out his cock, long and curved and nearly burning under your fingertips as the top was soaked in pre-cum. He grinded his teeth together before saying. “Please don’t slow down.”

“I’m getting there, Tobio,” you reassured him, and then drew your hair back from your face before taking in the girth of him between your mouth. Tobio sucked in another sharp intake of air and threw his head back, muscles everywhere strained. For whatever you couldn’t fit into your cavity, you stroked with your free hand and squeezed the tight muscles as his hips once again automatically began thrusting upwards. So like him to be so hasty and precise, you thought, each angle catching across your teeth and forcing a hiss from between his. You moaned against him, relishing in the thick long cock that was eagerly thrusting against your tongue, as well as the look on his face that was reddened with pleasure and exertion from holding in his breaths for so long.

“(F/N),” his voice was a strangled cry, but he was now peering at you with pleading in his eyes and you popped him out of your mouth to question.

“What do you want, Tobio? Tell me.”

He blushed again, stuttering as you darted your tongue out to lick him in intervals and dig your muscle against the tip of his. His cock literally contracted in response when he finally said, “Please touch me down there. I’m close.”

You hummed through a smile and released your hand from your hair to fondle his balls, and his legs nearly trapped you in. As you took him back in your mouth, your fingers never ceasing their strokes and clenches, his eyes weighed heavily in yours when he shakily pulled your hair back for you and gently grasped the side of your head. You feel his cock pulsing loudly now, every muscle sensitive and twitching and tight.

With the impending end coming, you took as much of him in your mouth as you could until the tip of him touched the back of your throat, forcing you to repress the gag reflex though tears that surfaced at the corners of your eyes. Tobio’s movements were growing so desperate that you could feel him literally holding himself back from pounding into your mouth, his fingers pressing tightly against your skull but not pulling. You breathed solely through your nose as his testicles began pulsing and he was groaning through clenched teeth.

Hot seeds splattered against the back of your throat, burning and salty as you patiently remained still as he squeezed out the droplets during steady thrusts. Tobio released a strangled sigh and clasped the chair with both of his hands until they were white, and then finally released the tension in his core when he was spent, throwing his head back, and you similarly unclenched your jaw to carefully avoid scraping his cock with your teeth. You swallowed the remnants of his release and wiped your mouth, shakily drawing back up. He was panting hard and eyes fluttering shut when you leaned back over him, and as exhausted as he looked, he still rather quickly raised a hand and rested it over your waist. You sent him a knowing smile.

“How was that for a _conductor_?” you teased, and his eyes widened momentarily to register the analogy you had just used. Red sprawled across his cheeks again as you giggled, and though his voice was tight and grumpy and he was a little too embarrassed, Tobio immediately said,

“I could do it better next time.”

He then proved that his fingers were indeed as long and skilled as they looked.

* * *

“He’s going too fast again,” Ike complained rather loudly, no longer afraid to let Kageyama hear after a practice session as others tittered behind their scores. On the other hand, the young man was crabbily flipping through the sheets with a standard furrow in his brow and his mouth in a frown, but a new red was on his face. You sent him a smile that he didn’t catch, and Ike turned to you to loudly reiterate, “Have all your practice sessions gone into waste?”

“I wouldn’t take it that far,” you responded jokingly, flipping back to the first page of the song. Kageyama had finally stopped rummaging through the music and was fidgeting with the collar at his neck that you would think he was choking. “Though maybe I need to be harsher next time when reinforcing patience as a virtue.”

He heard that and snapped his face towards you with a scowl, which you returned with a cheeky smile. The players in the front all snickered when he spoke, with a protruding muscle on his temple, that everyone temporarily paused in surprise. “I’ll improve. Just let me work on it.”

Kageyama Tobio could never blend it, but you didn’t have any complaints for that.

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t imagine Kageyama being as assertive and demanding in bed as he is on the court. He’s just… not the king of that arena. He’s too freaking cute. However, he is a very, very fast learner!
> 
> But hello there, this is my first official work with the Haikyuu fandom, so be prepared for some dirty pieces of work. Some others may be just fluff. I'll warn you if things get explicit. Mmm, yay to perverted minds.


End file.
